


we could call it even

by BellamyStilinski



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Also this includes manga spoilers technically, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Christmas, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, I guess it's technically, Kissing, Like sex occurs but it's not explicit at all, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Time Skip, Sex, also some swearing, did i mention there's lots of kissing, i keep thinking of tags and coming back to add them, that’s the tag lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellamyStilinski/pseuds/BellamyStilinski
Summary: “Ido,” he insists. And the desperation tears another hole right through Tooru. “Please just let me have this. Have you. If you just promise me one thing. You have to be there when I wake up. Just let me wake up next to you and then I’ll let you go again. I won’t ask you to stay. I promise.”Tooru sniffles, but he somehow finds the strength to form a smile. It’s not fake, not completely, but he knows Hajime can still probably see everything he’s hiding behind it. “Itistradition.”------------This is a tale of kisses and holiday traditions, of falling in love and falling apart. Being strong enough to walk away, but brave enough to come back together.Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's "'tis the damn season."
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 28
Kudos: 81





	we could call it even

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is my obligatory iwaoi "'tis the damn season" fic. I really wanted to write something inspired by this song, and this is what my brain came up with. I know it's a few days late, but I hope it can bring you some joy as you say goodbye to this difficult year.
> 
> Not only is this my first iwaoi, but it's also the first written work I've ever finished. So while I know it's not the best thing ever written, and there's probably still quite a bit of mistakes since I was so eager to post this that I only read it through once, I am still really proud of what I've created. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

To this day, Oikawa Tooru would maintain his stance that Hajime was, in fact, the one who started it. And everything that happened after has been entirely his fault. And no, this isn’t up for debate. There really is no room for interpretation here.

And sure, Iwaizumi Hajime would probably roll his eyes and grunt an “of course you would say that, Shittykawa,” like the Neanderthal he is. Because _typical Tooru._ Can’t ever take the blame for anything, can he? And certainly, he must be leaving out some of the details for his own benefit, right?

But no. _No._ Tooru is absolutely right about this and he will not allow Hajime’s pride to skew this memory. He _needs_ to make it known that all of this _is his fault._

They were nine and it was Christmas. Which was obviously Hajime’s favorite time of the year, even then, but he would never admit it. Even then.

And this is precisely why he was so dejected that he didn’t have a gift to give Tooru.

They sat under the dining room table, speaking in hushed tones that were broken up by giggles in fits and starts. The annual Christmas party hosted by Tooru’s parents was mostly taking place in the family room—the next room over—and they could just barely hear the bustling sound from the festivities, muffled, but still pouring through the wall.

When Tooru closes his eyes, he can still see the way the light shining through the tablecloth painted Hajime’s face in a red glow.

His eyes were also wet, which is another detail Tooru has never been able to forget. And even now, he hears the whispered, “But I don’t have anything for you,” in his head like it was yesterday.

And it’s almost funny, looking back, how genuinely heartbroken Hajime sounded as he said it. Like nothing could be worse than not being able to give Tooru a gift on Christmas at the age of nine as they sat under a table.

They were both cross-legged and facing one another, their knees barely touching.

And Tooru grinned at him. Because genuine smiles came easier those days. And it was _Hajime_. And that meant something.

Even then.

“That’s okay,” Tooru assured, placing a small hand right over where their knees met. His fingertips could feel the heat radiating from Hajime through his jeans where his own dress pants were much colder on his palm. “My parents bought this, anyway. I don’t actually have any money.”

Hajime laughed at that, the sound breaking through their bubble, and tried to cover it with his hand. Tooru curled his fingers against his leg and snickered in return.

“I—” Hajime started, looking away before he could say anything else. Tooru swore he could see the slightest flush of his cheeks. But maybe it was just the tablecloth.

“You…?” Tooru couldn’t help but smirk. He was getting good at them, he thought. But Hajime didn’t like when he made that face because he thought it made him look like he was _“up to something.”_ Which was honestly what Tooru was going for. He laughed again when Hajime turned his head and immediately scowled when their eyes met.

“Never mind.”

“What?” Tooru whined. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like your face.”

Tooru tried to frown, but his cheeks hurt. “Why not?”

“Is that all you can say?”

Tooru rolled his eyes. “What were you going to say?”

Hajime looked down at their legs, ringing his hands. Tooru wanted to reach out for them, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure that was something Hajime would appreciate.

“I could—I could kiss you?”

“ _What_?” Tooru wasn’t quite exasperated. Maybe confused. Maybe convinced he misheard him.

“I could kiss you,” Hajime repeated, and this time his voice didn’t waver. “My parents always say it every Christmas. When my dad asks my mom what she wants for Christmas, she tells him a kiss is all she needs. And then he kisses her, and it makes her happy.”

“Oh,” Tooru said, a bit dumbfounded. His nine-year-old brain was working hard to take it all in, but this was a lot of information.

“Yeah, but my mom said it to me, too. When I asked what she wanted for Christmas, she said I didn’t need to get her anything, but I told her I _had to_ , because she’s my mom, you know? And she said if I just gave her a kiss on the cheek that would be all she wants. And she was really happy when I did. So, I could kiss you on the cheek, and then it would make us even.”

It always makes Tooru laugh when he thinks about this conversation, because it may still be the most Hajime has ever spoken in the history of their friendship.

“Even?” Nine-year-old Tooru had asked, cocking his head.

“Yeah,” Hajime bit his lip, squeezing his hands together again. “I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek in exchange for my present.”

There was a part of Tooru that wanted to argue because this was ridiculous. Hajime didn’t _need_ to give him anything. That’s not what Christmas is about, after all.

But another part thought this seemed fair. Hajime had said it made his mom happy, and he thought _that’s_ what Christmas was about. And Tooru was giving Hajime a present because he wanted to make _him_ happy, too.

So he agreed. He nodded his head a little jerkily and breathed an “okay,” and a “you can kiss me.”

And well—

If Tooru is being honest, maybe you could blame everything that’s followed on him after all.

But who’s counting, right?

The kiss wasn’t anything special, not really. Hajime had leaned in the smallest amount, and Tooru turned his face to pointedly stare at the chair leg to his left. And then there was warm breath and soft lips and a lingering pressure that never really went away.

Only five, maybe seven, seconds could have gone by before Hajime was pulling away from him, but Tooru could have sworn an entire lifetime had passed.

And then he was thrusting Hajime’s gift into his lap without allowing a single beat of silence. “Now it’s time for your gift!”

Hajime’s eyes widened a fraction, looking baffled and a little confused. Maybe he wanted Tooru to say something about _his_ gift, but what was he supposed to say? He wouldn’t learn the words he needed to describe how he felt in that moment for years and years to come. And so, for now, it was Tooru’s turn to give Hajime his present. He just hoped it could somehow compare to the gift he had just been given. He wasn’t sure anything ever could, though.

Tooru closes his eyes, allowing the feeling of that night all those years ago to wash over him. He’s not sure how much time has passed when he opens them again, but he can see the green fields and small houses coming into view from his window seat.

There is a chime overhead as the seatbelt light comes to life. Tooru lets out a shaky breath and leans his head against the cold glass.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will now begin our descent and should be landing at Haneda International Airport in about thirty minutes. Thank you again for flying with Aerolíneas Argentinas today. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

It turns out that traditions can be born from the smallest of things. Tooru hadn’t initially intended for that when he was ten-and-a-half (because the half was important that year) and scoffed when Hajime handed him a gift-wrapped box with a bow on the top.

“What’s this?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Hajime sighed, and with a grunt, said, “Your gift.”

“Caveman,” Tooru chided with a tsk, but he took the present anyway, the paper crinkling under his fingers. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to make sure I had something for you because I didn’t get you anything last year and the volleyball poster you gave me was awesome!”

“But you did give me a gift.” The words were out before he even realized he shouldn’t have said them.

Hajime’s eyebrows knitted together, a question there, but they quickly widened as realization dawned on his face. “Oh! That’s—that doesn’t count.”

Tooru fought back a whine as he asked, “Why not?”

They both smiled as the memory from the year prior came back to them. Tooru’s why-nots and Hajime’s red hue. This time, though, Tooru was pretty sure he was the one blushing.

“What? Did you _want_ me to kiss you again?”

Tooru nearly lost his footing at the blunt question. They were walking down the sidewalk from Tooru’s house to Hajime’s in an attempt to flee this year’s party. Tooru was sure his mom would find them, but he was going to hide while he still could.

“I—I mean, I thought it was a good present.”

“Why?” Tooru barked a laugh at Hajime’s exasperation. It echoed into the dark, winter evening around them and Tooru could see his breath.

Hajime didn’t speak again and Tooru eventually shrugged. “It was nice, I guess. Kind of stupid. But I thought maybe you would make it a tradition or something.”

“That’s really dumb.”

Tooru ran up the Iwaizumi’s porch first, skipping a step on the way. His legs were getting so long. He turned around to look down at Hajime and stuck his tongue out. “You’re dumb.”

Hajime rolled his eyes and followed Tooru up the steps with a sigh. “I mean, I can kiss you if that’s really what you want.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Tooru insisted, suddenly feeling warm despite the snow. “I just wasn’t expecting you to have an actual gift this year.”

There was a glint in Hajime’s eyes and Tooru wasn’t sure he liked it. “I thought my kiss _was_ a gift?”

“Oh, shut up, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime closed his eyes in what Tooru could only assume was resignation. He had started calling him by the nickname a few months prior and though Hajime told him over and over to not call him that, Tooru knew he was getting used to it, and probably even kind of liked it.

The two of them had been making a lot of new friends in school in the past year, and while Tooru played it off like the nickname only existed to annoy Hajime, he knew the truth. He really just wanted to give him a name that was all his. Something that said, “ _he is my best friend and no one else’s.”_

Tooru never stopped calling him Iwa-chan after that. And he can’t say with certainty that the reasoning behind it has changed all that much.

That night on the porch, however, he was still surprised when Hajime didn’t bite back a retort. Didn’t even try to tell Tooru how bad his personality was, because apparently that was a thing he did now. Tooru knew he probably deserved it, but sometimes it hurt. Sometimes he would throw an insult back and play along with a laugh. Because he knew that Hajime cared about him. Even loved him in his own way. This was just who they were, and who they would be far into the future. This was Tooru and Hajime standing on the porch of Hajime’s childhood home, staring at each other with matching scowls and snow-swept hair. They could almost hear the guests next door in the silence they created.

But, again, Tooru knew Hajime cared about him. Would probably do anything for him if it came down to it. And that’s why what happened next wasn’t as much of a shock as one would think.

Tooru was being pulled forward, Hajime’s strong grip around his arm, and he stumbled as Hajime’s lips made contact. This time, the kiss hit the corner of his mouth, and Tooru has never been sure if he missed his cheek or if he had done it on purpose. And he’s never had the courage to ask.

“Now you have to get me another gift,” Hajime stated matter-of-factly, wiping his mouth as he pulled away. “Since I got you two.”

Tooru gaped at him, truly speechless for what Hajime would probably say was the first and last time in his life.

When Hajime turned away from him, Tooru finally spoke. “I guess that’s fair,” he mumbled, following his best friend through the front door.

And that’s how the Christmas Kiss tradition came to be. The Kissmas, if you will.

(Hajime hated when Tooru called it that, but that never stopped him.)

When he steps out of the tunnel and into the gate, Tooru expects Haneda to be alive with the hustle and bustle of the holidays. He thought it would be thrumming with the same charged anxiety that is pulsing through his owns veins.

He thought they would have that in common.

But instead, he’s met with something calm, almost warm. It feels like the good parts of Christmas – the ones everyone talks about in movies and songs. Something Tooru stopped believing in a long time ago.

He realizes it, then, as he makes his way to the baggage claim, looking around the airport and taking it all in. It feels like home here.

He’s made it home.

The Kissmas tradition carried on through the years they had left of their childhood. Every Christmas, Hajime finding a different way to press his lips to Tooru.

One year, it was his forehead, another, his shoulder. He kissed his nose once. And Tooru never quite recovered from that one, he doesn’t think.

When they were fifteen, Hajime threw a large bag of Hershey’s Kisses at Tooru’s face. He whined—because of the pain and because it wasn’t _fair_ —but by definition, he had to accept the chocolates as that year’s gift.

They hadn’t exactly hashed out rules, after all. They never actually spoke about their tradition on any day other than December 25th. The Oikawa’s annual Christmas party would come around, they would find a corner to avoid all the other guests, and Hajime would kiss him. The next day, they would go back to the volleyball and insults and vague threats. And it would be like it never happened.

And it was fine. Tooru didn’t _want_ Hajime to kiss him every other day of the year. Not then. What they had was good. Tooru knew Hajime was his best friend and he would always be there. He didn’t need him to prove that by making it something more. But it was nice, taking that one day of the year, to let himself be reminded that in some capacity at least, Hajime was _his._

Takahiro, however, hadn’t gotten the memo that this was something they didn’t talk about.

Tooru had made the mistake of inviting him and Issei to the holiday party. They were sixteen, and no, they hadn’t told their friends about their tradition. They never told anyone.

But they were there. And Tooru and Hajime were tasked with entertaining them.

Tooru loved his friends, he did, but now that the party was underway, he couldn’t remember why he had invited them in the first place.

He spent the entire night trying to find excuses to get Hajime alone. It was almost embarrassing, the way he dragged Hajime around the house with the excuse of refilling his drink or showing him something up in his room. Takahiro and Issei were always on their heels, though, and every attempt was failed and aborted, leaving Tooru stumbling over his feet and words to play out every made-up scenario.

Finally, as the night was nearing its close, Hajime had excused himself to the restroom. Tooru, as subtle as ever, told his other friends that he needed to find his mom and see if she wanted him to start cleaning up.

Once he turned the corner from the dining room where his friends sat at the table, and into the hallway, Tooru all but ran to his destination. He stood by the bathroom door and waited. Maybe, in hindsight, it was a bit creepy, but Tooru will maintain that he did what he had to.

When the door finally clicked open, Hajime started at the sight of Tooru, but before any words could be said, Tooru was gripping his wrist and dragging him into the storage closet across the hallway. He pulled the door shut and cornered Hajime before he could protest.

“You owe me a present.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the small smile there. It made Tooru softer than he’d ever admit.

“Is that right?” Hajime asked, sounding incredulous. “I don’t really think that’s how it works. You’re not supposed to shove someone against the wall and demand they give you a gift. That’s not really in the Christmas spirit.”

Now it was Tooru’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, come on. You _know_ why I had to pull you in here.”

“Do I?”

“I know you’re not the smartest bulb in the box, Iwa-chan, but you’re not this dumb. It’s _tradition._ Try to keep up, here.”

Hajime scoffed and crossed his arms. “You kidnapped me and—”

“I didn’t _kidnap_ you! I simply intercepted your walk back to—”

“You _kidnapped me_ and then cornered me in your storage closet so that I can kiss you? For Christmas? Because it’s tradition?”

And yeah, it sounded ridiculous. Even Tooru was aware of that. But what was he _supposed_ to do?

“Makki and Mattsun,” Tooru started, sounding strangled, “they were just always _there,_ and I didn’t want to wait. Because we always—” and he wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t say it. “During the party, you know?”

Hajime sighed, and Tooru realized suddenly how tired he looked. He frowned and opened his mouth to comment on it, but before he could, Hajime said, “You invited them. Maybe you should have thought about how badly you wanted to kiss me before doing that.”

Tooru sputtered. “ _I_ don’t want to kiss _you,_ Iwa-chan! You’re the one kissing _me_ , remember? Has preparing for university killed all your brain cells?”

Hajime huffed out a laugh and Tooru could feel the breath against his face. It occurred to him, only then, how he had begun crowding Hajime even closer, his back against the shelves and Tooru’s face only inches from his.

“Fine, then you really want _me_ to kiss _you._ But my point still stands.”

“What point?”

“That you shouldn’t have invited them if you wanted alone time with me.”

Tooru blinked. There was an edge to Hajime’s voice that he couldn’t quite place. “Wait, are you _mad_ at me?”

Hajime sighed again and leaned his head back against the shelf behind him, creating a bit of distance. It was such a small thing, but it felt like a loss. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know! Inviting Makki and Mattsun, maybe? You just seem mad.”

Hajime snorted. “Maybe I’m mad because you pulled me into the closet to hide from our friends and demanded I kiss you.”

“It’s _tradition_!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Hajime whispered, but it still sounded exasperated somehow. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, Whinykawa, fine. I’ll kiss you. Or whatever.”

Tooru couldn’t help the grin that split his face. But it quickly fell as he looked up to meet Hajime’s eyes. They darted down, then, and Tooru tried to pretend like he didn’t know that Hajime was looking at his lips. His body stiffened instinctually in response to the realization, but he kept his face carefully blank. He knew Hajime wouldn’t do it, anyway. Not there, in his parents’ closet. Probably not ever.

Tooru didn’t speak, not sure if anything would come out if he tried. Hajime seemed to realize it, too, that the fighting and banter that served as a wall, keeping them at a safe distance from one another every other day of the year, had fallen once more. He took in a breath, letting it out in a harsh exhale.

“Fine,” he said again, and Tooru was sure he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he wasn’t standing where he was.

He felt the pressure of firm fingers around his elbow, and then he was being pulled in. It seemed like Hajime was always pulling Tooru to him, bringing him into his space for the briefest of moments and then pushing him away. His lips met Tooru’s cheek, then, and it was like that night seven years prior, soft and unsure, but there was something else there too, even though Tooru tried to ignore it. It was somehow charged and longing at the same time, even as it ended way sooner than it felt like it should have.

Hajime didn’t separate from him right away, his nose just barely grazing Tooru’s temple.

Tooru had just begun to feel the pressure on his arm loosen when he heard the closet door being pulled open with a slam. He shrieked, simultaneously jumping into the air and backward, away from Hajime. All of which he would deny to his dying day.

“What,” was all he heard from Issei, who was standing in the doorway, hands on either side of the frame, and the light from the hallway pouring into the room around his silhouette. There was no inflection in the word, and Tooru found that to make everything worse somehow.

“What’s going on here?” Takahiro asked with a song in his voice, sliding under Issei’s arm, and slithering himself into the closet.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. Tooru thinks his brain may have blocked it out due to the sheer embarrassment mixing with the adrenaline of trying to speak more words at once than humanly possible.

He and Hajime stumbled over their words and each other as they attempted to get to their friends, to explain themselves. It was “it’s just this thing we do for Christmas,” and “it doesn’t mean anything,” and “it’s tradition,” and “it was only on the cheek,” and many more rushed explanations all combining in a barely coherent whirlwind.

When they finished explaining themselves in a semi-sufficient manner, the other two boys simply blinked at them. There was a long silence that followed, but really, anything would have felt quiet after that, and it was only broken when Issei looked up to what Tooru could only assume was the heavens and said, “Oh, boy.”

And then the tension snapped. And Takahiro was laughing so hard that he had to slide down the doorframe and onto the floor before his knees gave way. And Tooru didn’t know what to do, so he let himself chuckle along at the sight of his friend nearly rolling on the ground. And Hajime was banging the back of his head against the shelf over and over and Issei had a hand over his face and Tooru couldn’t tell if he was trying to cover his smile or facepalm.

They didn’t see the other two again until they returned to school after the new year started, and that, when they were sitting in the volleyball clubroom after practice, was precisely when Takahiro broke rule number one.

Well, it was the only rule they had, and it was unspoken, but Tooru was under the impression it went without saying. But maybe that was just him.

“You know, guys,” Takahiro had started, pulling his school uniform shirt back over his head, “I totally understand why you started the whole _kiss_ thing, but, uh… It’s still kind of, I don’t know…”

“Weird?” Issei provided. _Always so helpful_.

“Weird,” Tooru repeated, deadpan and face blank. Hajime was notably quiet, suddenly fixated on getting all his items into his bag.

“Not like,” Takahiro interjected quickly, sounding frantic, “like, weird as in—it’s fine if you want to kiss guys or whatever. I Just meant, like, the fact that you two just, like, kiss, but only on Christmas. Like, why not just—I don’t understand.”

“Well maybe if you can finish a single sentence and actually ask me a question, I can explain it to you.” And sure, that was probably overly bitchy, but Tooru was already feeling drained from this conversation and it felt like it had barely begun.

“I think,” Issei sighed, “what Makki is trying to say is that he doesn’t understand why you don’t just kiss each other all the time. Like why just on Christmas?”

Tooru gaped at them. “I—That’s not—”

And then Hajime was moving closer with heavy feet, Tooru snapping his gaze to the side to look at him. “I thought we explained this at the party. It’s not like that. It’s just something we do because we did it when we were kids and it’s just a funny tradition we have. Don’t make it more complicated than it is.” And with that, he was walking out the door and leaving the rest of them in the clubroom in his wake.

Takahiro and Issei had matching expressions of doubt, eyebrows knit and looking unsure, but they didn’t speak again. There was a weight of finality to Hajime’s words and they didn’t dare to push it.

It was never brought up again.

The train ride from Tokyo to Miyagi is what it is at this point, Tooru traveling between the two enough in his life to be used to it. He’s starting to really feel his nerves, however, as he stares out the window, watching a snow-covered Japan pass him by. He hasn’t seen it this way in such a long time and there is an ache in his chest at the sight of it.

He wants the train ride to be over, so that he can finally reach his destination and end this excruciating build up, but he also wants it to go on forever. Because he doesn’t really want to go home at all. Not when he knows what’s waiting for him there. Everything he will have to face. The choices he made and what happened in light of them. All the things he has lost because of a decision he made and refused to take back.

He closes his eyes and feels the train rolling beneath him.

Can he really do this? Is it too late to turn back and leave everything behind for another four years? Maybe he can try again, then. Maybe he’ll be ready.

He’ll never be ready, he doesn’t think. And he wants to run away screaming at the thought of what comes next. But there is a hole in his chest that gets bigger every day and he’s not sure how much longer he can go without filling it.

Tooru squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and takes a shuddering breath. He doesn’t want to think about this anymore, would do anything to turn it off, but there’s no escaping it.

The train rolls on and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

There was something so distinctly awful about Hajime being in California.

Tooru can still feel the way his heart sank when he told him. Which was ridiculous, because Tooru had already made the decision to go to Argentina and would be leaving months before Hajime started his first semester.

But it didn’t stop him from feeling it. This sense of loss. There was something about California that felt fake to him, like Hajime was going where he couldn’t follow.

Argentina was further from Japan than it was California, but it didn’t feel that way in Tooru’s head. He did everything he could to hide the depression that fell over him in their last weeks together. His flight to Argentina was just around the corner and he didn’t want to waste the time they had left. He thought Hajime knew, though. There was an ache in the air around them. It was in everything they touched.

That ache never really went away, Tooru knows, and he still feels it as he steps off the train.

Hajime hadn’t even been at university for four months when Tooru sent the text.

**_you going home for christmas ?_ **

It seemed like a stupid question. Why wouldn’t he go home? University students had a break for Christmas, right? He sighed, not sure why he sent the text at all. But he waited for a reply.

The two of them had been in regular contact since Tooru left for Argentina. They at least texted every day and tried to have a phone or skype call once or twice a week. It was worse once Hajime left for university. Between both of their busy schedules and the time difference, it became increasingly more difficult to keep up with one another.

And Tooru missed him. He would never say it out loud, but he couldn’t hide that fact from himself. It was too apparent in everything he was. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t immediately grab for his phone to tell Hajime about something exciting that had just happened to him, or that he didn’t imagine Hajime was there sometimes when he set the ball to a spiker on his team. He felt his absence like a physical weight in that first year. And all he wanted was to ease the heaviness of it for a little while.

And he thought that was why he asked. Because he just _needed_ to see Hajime’s face in the dining room of his parents’ house while a group of people mingled in the next room over. He longed for that sense of normalcy. Of a familiar scowl and a gruff voice that was etched into all his memories.

All he wanted was to go home and have the one thing that always reminded him that Hajime would never leave him. The one thing that was _theirs._

When the answering text came, Tooru truly thought he would vomit. He felt the earth shift under his feet and the crushing weight turned to a tightening grip and he wasn’t sure when he was going to start breathing again.

**_No, I’m not. My parents are coming here for most of December and we’ll be celebrating together in California since they haven’t visited yet. I’m coming back with them on the 27th and staying through New Years, though._ **

Tooru didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do. All he knew was that he absolutely could not give away how much Hajime’s response shattered him.

But he was typing his response before he could stop himself.

**_my flight back to arg is on the 1st_ **

Just because Tooru typed those words in the most crestfallen way imaginable, he told himself that it was fine, because Hajime wouldn’t take it that way. If anything, it was just informative.

And he was right. Hajime didn’t seem to notice that he had ripped Tooru’s heart from his chest.

**_Oh. Well, then we’ll just have to make sure we hang out before you leave._ **

It wasn’t enough. It could never be. They would only get four days together if they were lucky, and not to mention Hajime would be missing the Christmas party. And Tooru wasn’t sure how he would survive it without him.

And what would happen to a tradition if one-half of the participants were missing?

Tooru had only been home for a day and a half when he learned that no one, absolutely no one, had any regard for ceremony anymore.

“What do you mean you’re _not having the Christmas party?”_

His mother sighed. He was being dramatic, and he knew it, but she had to know how crazy she sounded.

“Well, we figured it wouldn’t be same without the Iwaizumis here. They always help us host and Lord knows you’re never any help.”

“ _Mom,”_ Tooru whined. Because that was just _rude_.

“ _Tooru,”_ she mocked, and his face twisted. She laughed at him, then, high and light, and he couldn’t help the fondness that overtook him at the sound. Even when his mother was making fun of him, all he did was love her more.

“He’s just sad he won’t be able to see his beloved _Iwa-chan_.”

The warmth in his chest put there by his mother turned into a fiery rage at his sister’s words. He hadn’t even remembered she was in the room.

He geared himself up tell her just what he thought of _that_ , but the words died in his throat when he saw his mom frown.

“Oh, Tooru, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“What?” he asked quickly, placing a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He was keenly aware he never denied his sister’s words, and that this response was, technically, an admission. The women let it slide, though. Instead, his mother just continued to look at him, the same thoughtful, yet melancholy look on her face.

“What if, instead of cancelling the party, we have a New Year’s Eve party instead? That way, the Iwaizumis can still come and we’ll still have a holiday party.”

Tooru didn’t know what to say. He knew she was doing this for him. Because clearly the party meant something to him, even if she didn’t really know how _much_ it meant to him. But she was trying, and it touched him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He did the only thing he could, really, and agreed. He even promised to help. And as they discussed plans, Tooru was beginning to get excited at the idea. But he still couldn’t help it when he said, “This is going to be weird to not have the party on Christmas. It’s what we’ve always done.”

“I know, honey,” his mom offered softly, putting an arm around his shoulders, “but sometimes you just have to accept that things change. It’s a part of life and learning to accept it is a part of growing up.”

Tooru didn’t like that at all. Everything was already changing so much. And while he knew he would never regret the decisions he made for his future, he still wished time would just slow down and let him breathe while he still felt like he could.

Christmas came and went quicker than Tooru expected it to. He spent the days leading up to it planning the party with his mom, shopping with his sister, and attempting to play volleyball in the snow with Takeru, who was now on his middle school team and insisted his Uncle Tooru show him all the new moves he’s learned while in Argentina.

Christmas day really wasn’t anything special, but it was nice to have the time with his family. After they opened gifts and ate dinner, Tooru stayed in the dining room late into the night. He resisted the urge to crawl under the table, but it was a near thing.

He instead just stared out the window and into the darkness. He could barely make out gusts of wind carrying snow flurries. They seemed to have no direction, and Tooru couldn’t help but wonder what that felt like.

He had never had such a quiet and uneventful Christmas night. It was lonely, almost unbearably so. And he just couldn’t shake the feeling of _wrong_ that encompassed him.

Two days later, Tooru couldn’t decide if it were easier to breathe once more, or if all the breath was leaving his lungs at once. Because Hajime was _there_ right in front of him, after over six months of being on different continents. And all Tooru wanted was to run to him, reach out to him, grab hold and never let go. Anything to get him closer. To have him by his side once more.

It felt dangerous, this need that overtook him, then. Like he wasn’t sure he could survive without this man—because yes, he was turning into a man quicker than Tooru felt like he himself ever would—and Tooru knew it wasn’t healthy to be so attached to another person. To be so co-dependent that his entire life felt out of place without him.

But Tooru had survived months without Hajime, and he was doing a good job of it, too, so he would take these next few days and relish in them. He would let himself have this. Let himself feel all of it.

Because Hajime was home. And Tooru realized that, since his return, he hadn’t thought of it as home until that very moment.

When Tooru walks into his parents’ house, it’s late, and he knows they’re sleeping. He doesn’t expect them to be waiting for him, because he hadn’t told them he was coming.

The lamp in the corner of the foyer is on when he walks in, as he figured it would to be, because some things never change, and he manages to make it to his childhood bedroom without knocking anything over. He does his best to not wake his parents, and he’s pretty sure he was successful.

He tries not to overthink this. The fact that he’ll wake up and be here. That he’ll go downstairs and surprise his parents and they’ll hopefully be happy to see him. It’s been years since he’s been home for Christmas. Not since he’s seen his parents, no, but since he’s been around for the holidays. He hopes they see his presence as a gift and not a burden. But he figures he can always leave if it doesn’t work out.

It’s not like he hasn’t done it before.

The New Year’s Eve party was going exceptionally well, if Tooru did say so himself. There was music and party trays and alcohol, and all the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. He was beginning to think that maybe they should have changed the date of their party a long time ago.

Best of all, Tooru was drunk, and he was riding the high of the previous days, all of which he spent with Hajime, running around their town and treating everything as if they never graduated at all. The world was blurry, and he was ending the year with his best friend by his side and he was _happy._

They still had three hours until midnight, but Tooru had been drinking since before the party started and he was way further gone than he should have been. Hajime was holding him up, basically dragging him through the house.

When Tooru was finally pushed into a sitting position, he realized he was in the dining room, Hajime sitting next to him and placing a glass of water on the table.

“Drink this.”

Tooru sighed dramatically and did as he was told. He couldn’t tell if he felt warm from the alcohol or the familiar way Hajime was taking care of him, but he wasn’t in the right state of mind to ponder it.

“Oh, Iwa-chan, what would I do without you?”

Hajime snorted. “Die of alcohol poisoning, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Tooru giggled, looking around the room. “I’ve survived by myself in Argentina, though.”

And he hadn’t meant to say _that_ , but his brain didn’t process it properly, so he didn’t quite understand when all Hajime responded with was a gruff, “Yeah.”

Tooru’s eyes swept down to the table in front of him. And the tablecloth was red, he realized, through all the haze, and for some reason, this meant something to him. He laughed again, but flinched when Hajime snapped his eyes up to look at him.

“What?” he asked, and it was almost sharp enough to cut through the thick clouds taking up space in Tooru’s brain.

“The tablecloth is red,” Tooru said out loud. Because he couldn’t _not_ say it. And he thought maybe Hajime would understand it better than he could. Why he was so fixated on this detail.

“It’s good to know your observational skills are intact even in this state,” Hajime snarked, but there wasn’t any humor in it, and Tooru could feel the heat beginning to slip away from him.

“You weren’t here on Christmas.” The words came out with a heavy tongue, but Tooru managed to meet his best friend’s eye as he said them.

“I know,” Hajime sighed and had his own look around the room.

Tooru watched him curiously, the end of the tablecloth bunched between his fingers.

And then he remembered all at once.

His eyes widened and he felt it as a lopsided grin took over his face.

“You never gave me my present.”

Hajime seemed startled out of his own thoughts as he said, “What?”

“My present,” Tooru repeated slowly.

“I bought you stuff in California, remember? I gave it to you on my first day back and—” Hajime’s eyes widened suddenly as he cut himself off. “ _Oh.”_

Tooru couldn’t help but laugh at that and even he could tell how crazed it sounded. “Yeah, ‘ _oh,_ ’” he mocked.

“Oikawa, we’re eighteen years old and I’m in university. You play volleyball competitively in another country.”

“Those are facts,” Tooru nodded once as he slurred. “Iwa-chan is so smart.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hajime said succinctly as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

Tooru was smiling again. “You missed me.”

“I did not.”

“I know you’re lying, but I’ll let you have it,” Tooru assured, patting Hajime’s shoulder with his hand. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, but there was a soft smile. Tooru wanted to believe it was fond. And for him. And so he did.

Hajime must have realized it, too, and attempted to twist his face into a scowl. He moved to shrug off Tooru’s hand, and with exaggerated disgust said, “Will you stop touching me?”

Tooru didn’t. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Hajime froze, all attempts to remove himself from Tooru ceased and Tooru could hear the way his breath caught. He didn’t speak right away and Tooru wondered if he was going to leave. He really didn’t want him to. Drunk Tooru could admit that. He was even prepared to say it out loud if it came down to it.

“Don’t you think we’re too old for that?” Hajime finally asked, but the words didn’t feel as harsh as they should have. They came out in a whisper, almost as if Hajime were afraid to ask them.

“It’s tradition,” Tooru said, because those two words were all he had. They came out brittle and broken.

Hajime chuckled quietly at that, sounding incredulous. “This isn’t even the Christmas party.”

“Well, whose fault is _that?”_ Tooru asked, voice suddenly much louder, and if there was any doubt that he wasn’t sober, that was certainly gone now.

There was a sigh and then Tooru felt the lightest of touches against his skin. He watched Hajime’s fingers as they circled gently around his wrist.

“Why does this mean so much to you, Tooru?”

His chest hurt from the way his heart jumped at the sound of his first name on Hajime’s lips. He hadn’t heard it since they were kids. Probably since the first time those same lips touched his cheek.

A part of him knew that he didn’t have to answer this question. That there was a version of himself who would find a way to brush it off and make fun of Hajime in the process. But this Tooru couldn’t find it in himself to say anything but the truth.

“Everything is different now,” he started, and the words were coming out quicker than his clumsy tongue could manage. He just hoped it was coherent enough for Hajime to understand. “And I left, and you left, and then we didn’t even have the Christmas party. And I know things change and that’s life and I chose to leave and that’s on me, but I just wanted to see you and have just one thing be the same. Because that’s what we do on Christmas. You kiss me. And that’s the only present I’ve ever needed. I just want you to kiss me and then it’ll get me through until next year. I swear.”

Tooru’s breath was heavy as he finished, and the sound of it was all that could be heard in the room between them. Tooru remembered, then, the silence of the first time, when they sat in the dining room together. His skin thrummed with something close to exhilaration.

“Oikawa, I—”

“No,” Tooru was cutting him off before he knew why. “You can’t say no. I know that tone. And you just _can’t._ ”

And then the most remarkable thing happened. Tooru looked up to meet Hajime’s eyes. And they were wet. Just the smallest amount, barely there if you didn’t know what to look for. But Tooru _did_ know what to look for and his heart ached from the sight.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, suddenly feeling guilty. “We don’t have to. It’s dumb, anyway.”

“No,” Hajime sighed, “we do. We can.”

Tooru’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Hajime said in that no-nonsense tone of his, and Tooru knew he meant it. “But I want you to sober up. No more drinking for the night. I’ll get you more water.”

“What?” Tooru whined. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could go through with this if he were sober. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to kiss you at midnight. And you’re not going to be drunk when I do.”

Tooru wakes up in his childhood bed and he knows immediately that he was dreaming of Hajime again. He does more often than not, these days, but this dream had been more vivid, closer to a memory than anything. He doesn’t want to be thinking of these things, because all they do is hurt, but he has no control over his brain, it seems.

He gets out of bed and dresses as quietly as possible. It’s slow going as he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen where his parents are talking quietly and preparing breakfast.

His father sees him first, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. “Tooru?”

His mother turns around quickly and meets his eyes with a start. “Tooru? What are you doing here?”

He almost cries, right there, in his parents’ kitchen, as his mom runs into his arms as if having him home for Christmas is the best thing he could have ever given her.

The breakfast they share is surrounded by a soft, warm bliss that makes Tooru’s throat hoarse as he tries to answer all his parents’ questions about volleyball and Argentina and how quickly the Olympics are coming up. He does his best, because he loves them and misses them dearly, and he knows in this moment that he made the right decision in coming home.

The feeling doesn’t last, though, because one second Tooru is laughing at a story his dad is telling them about when he and his sister were children, and the next, they hear the sound of a car pulling up outside.

They all look out the window at once, and Tooru quickly realizes the car isn’t in front of their house, but instead, pulling up in front of the one next door.

Tooru feels it, then, the panic he has been suppressing, the fear that this was all a huge mistake, as he watches the car door open and Iwaizumi Hajime step out onto the road and into the sunlight.

“Alright,” Hajime started, and his voice was even, but Tooru could tell he was uneasy all the same. He was standing in the corner of the dining room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. “It’s five minutes to midnight.”

Tooru was on his third glass of water and looking over at Hajime, chin in hand. He was mostly sober now, the last lingering of a buzz slipping out of his reach. “Isn’t that a song?”

Hajime leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “I’m not sure why I even agreed to this.”

“Technically,” Tooru said, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “this was your idea.”

He laughed as Hajime closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Whatever.”

It’s hard for Tooru to look back at this moment. Because it’s one of the last they ever had like this. It’s the last time they were able to just be Tooru and Hajime. Before they knew what the events of the evening would lead to. How it would affect their lives for years to come.

Tooru stared down at his phone. It was 11:58. He looked back up at Hajime, who still had his head against the wall and eyes closed, and Tooru understood that he would have to be the one to move. He knew Hajime was trying to ready himself for this, and he couldn’t blame him.

Tooru was terrified, but he stood on shaking legs and made his way over to his best friend, stopping in front of him.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, unsure if he wanted Hajime to say yes or no. They could hear the guests beginning to count down in the next room over.

Hajime snapped his eyes open and stared directly into Tooru’s, gaze never wavering. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

_Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six._

And since he was never one to back down from a challenge, Tooru said the only thing he could.

“Yes, Iwa-chan. Kiss me.”

_Ten._

This was it.

_Nine._

It wasn’t still too late to back out, he told himself.

_Eight._

Hajime pushed off the wall and moved closer into Tooru’s space.

_Seven._

Tooru took an answering step backward on instinct, but Hajime followed him as he went, lightly caressing his elbow as he went.

_Six._

“Are you _sure_?”

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

Tooru nodded, possibly more sure than he had ever been in his life, but afraid to speak.

_Two._

And there really wasn’t much to question when their eyes met in that last second. Hajime’s were full of something Tooru couldn’t put into words, but he somehow understood that it was all for him. And he wanted to bask in it.

_One._

The countdown turned into cheers and Hajime didn’t hesitate. He pulled Tooru into him and brought their lips together. It was rough, and maybe a little clumsy, and Tooru was caught off guard by the sheer feeling of it. He had felt Hajime’s lips on so many different parts of him throughout the years, but never once did they allow their lips to touch like this. It shouldn’t have been anything special—it was just a kiss. But it wasn’t.

It was _everything._

Tooru couldn’t move right away, but Hajime didn’t pull away, even as the cheers began to die down. When Tooru did finally, _finally_ , find a way to reciprocate the kiss, it became clear that this was what Hajime was waiting for.

As Tooru began to move, Hajime’s hands moved from his shoulders and into his hair, and he let out a surprised sound that quickly turned to a moan as Hajime deepened the kiss, swallowing it down.

And it wasn’t romantic or soft or sweet. It was desperate and intense, their lips meeting again and again in harsh movements. It was years and years of an unspoken feeling finally being brought into the light. Tooru didn’t know what to do other than give into it. And he didn’t see an end in sight.

Tooru knew he was shaking, uselessly gripping the hem of Hajime’s shirt for dear life, but Hajime was there, cradling the back of his head as he slipped his tongue into Tooru’s mouth, strong hands saying _I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you._

Tooru moved his grip to Hajime’s hips, then, and in the next instant, Hajime was spinning them around and moving to push Tooru forward.

There was a sudden pain in Tooru’s back, and the distinct sound of clanging glass, and they both froze.

Tooru let out a breathy laugh as he realized Hajime had pushed him into the china cabinet. It was high-pitched and tinged with hysteria. With something close to panic.

Hajime must have heard it for what it was. Because he backed up and created some space between them, placing his hands on Tooru’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Tooru’s searched Hajime’s face. His lips were swollen red and his eyes were glossed over, but full of so much awe that Tooru couldn’t breathe at the sight of them.

But there was genuine fear there, too, and Tooru knew that he had to find a way to answer this question.

He wrapped a hand around Hajime’s wrist and squeezed. “Yes. I’m—I’m good.” He couldn’t stop the smile as it took over his face, then. Hajime returned it and Tooru’s heart felt as if it grew in size when it reached his eyes and they crinkled.

“Tooru,” Hajime breathed out, running a thumb softly over his cheek, so careful, Tooru thought maybe he was made of glass.

“Can we—” Tooru tried to speak, but his throat was raw.

But Hajime understood. He always did. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He dropped his hands and Tooru held a firm, but shaking grip, around his wrist. Hajime began to walk through the house with more purpose than Tooru had ever seen, and when they reached the back door, Hajime pulled Tooru through it and into the backyard.

The snow was higher than either of them had expected it to be and they were laughing as they made their way from Tooru’s yard into Hajime’s. Every few seconds, one of them would pull the other into a clumsy kiss that would turn into another fit of giggles as they stumbled through the snow.

To this day, Tooru doesn’t ever remember being happier than in this moment.

Once Hajime pulled him through the back door and made sure it was firmly shut, he was on him again. He had him pinned against the wall, trailing kisses down his neck. Tooru relished in it, loving the feeling of Hajime’s lips anywhere he could get them. But he needed more, more, _more._

He grabbed Hajime’s face and brought it back to his own. Their teeth met before their lips did, but that didn’t deter them. Tooru was pushing into Hajime, who was giving as good as he got, and before either of them knew what they were doing, they had made their way to Hajime’s bedroom, never separating from one another.

Though their hands shook and their hearts stumbled, heavy and uneven, neither of them hesitated as Hajime led Tooru across the room.

And there, in a bed Tooru had slept in almost as many times as his own, he and Hajime finally let down their walls and took each other apart.

When Tooru opened his eyes the next morning, he wasn’t confused about where he was. He didn’t need to take a moment to remember what had happened the night before. He knew, with absolutely certainty, that he had slept with is best friend.

And it was the most incredible night of his life.

He gingerly uncurled himself from Hajime, terrified that he could wake him and ruin the beautiful sight before him. When he repositioned himself, he propped his head up on his elbow, lying on his side, and just stared.

Hajime was beautiful. Tooru had always known that, objectively, that Hajime was attractive. He was adorable, too, if Tooru was being honest, and a part of him almost felt put-off by the idea that another person could be that perfect.

But he wasn’t just another person, was he? He was Hajime. _His_ Hajime. His Iwa-chan. This boy-turned-man with whom he spent almost every day of his life from the time they met until they graduated from high school. And yeah, he was rough around the edges, a bit gruff. And Tooru loved to call him a caveman, sure. But he was soft, too. Softer even than Tooru gave him credit for. He kept a hard exterior, but right under the surface was someone so caring that he would do anything to make sure Tooru was safe and happy. He would fight for him, fight with him, until the end of their lives. Tooru was certain of that.

And that was the side of him that Tooru was looking at now. His face was slack as he slept, soft breaths causing his considerable chest to rise and fall in a slow rhythm. He looked like a kid again, like the boy who told Tooru that he would kiss him in exchange for his Christmas gift.

And God, how Tooru ached at the thought. He barely stopped himself from reaching out and caressing Hajime’s face.

He knew with every fiber of his being that this was his person. That Iwaizumi Hajime always had been and always would be everything he truly wanted and needed. He just hadn’t been able to see the whole picture until now. Until they finally took that leap of faither over the wall and to the other side.

And Tooru imagined it then – his life with Hajime. He could see it all. Their dates, their late-night volleyball matches, the proposal, the wedding, maybe even children one day. He saw what it would look like, growing old with his best friend. And he loved the idea, felt like it was the only future that would ever make him feel whole.

And that terrified him.

Because that wasn’t the path he was on at all. Wasn’t the path _they_ were on.

Tooru had tried to ignore the way all of his fantasies about their future took place in Miyagi. How it felt just like the last ten years of their lives, just extended into an impossible forever.

And what scared Tooru most of all – more than the idea of wanting a forever with Hajime, more than the realization and he was in love with his best friend – was the fact that he so easily accepted that he would stay with him. For him. If he asked him to.

Tooru even began thinking of the logistics of moving to California before he knew it was happening. And he hated himself for it. Because _no_ , that was not happening. Tooru’s future was planned. He had goals and dreams and he wasn’t going to drop them now. He couldn’t.

It was hard enough already, leaving Hajime behind. Being almost a day’s flight away from him, hours and hours separating their time zones. But he survived it. Every day, he pushed the hole inside him as deep as it would go and focused on what was important.

Now, though, Tooru could already feel the hole getting bigger, and he hadn’t even made it back to Argentina.

Hajime was still in the bed with him, and he already missed him. And he had no idea how he would survive if he had this and couldn’t hold onto it with everything he had.

Tooru didn’t do anything halfway, after all, and he knew the truth before it even became a clear thought in his head.

He would never be able to give Hajime what he deserved.

Tooru did know there was a possibility that maybe Hajime wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want _him_ , but from the way last night felt, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that. But if Hajime did want this, and Tooru gave into it, he knew that it would never be enough. Last night proved to him that they needed each other much more than either of them were prepared for. And it was too much.

And they were on different paths, now, and nothing was going to change that.

They wasted so many years, he realized suddenly.

And the way that thought made him feel was worse than any pain he had ever experienced.

But he knew what he had to do.

As quietly as he could, Tooru forced himself out of Hajime’s childhood bed. He searched the room for his scattered clothes and dressed in slow movements, trying his best to keep the floors from creaking. He couldn’t bring himself to rush, though, knowing this could be the last moment he would share Hajime’s space for a very, very long time.

When he finally turned to leave the room, Tooru took one last glance at Hajime, taking him in. He studied him, this man he knew so well, trying desperately to memorize every inch of him. To commit anything he may have previously missed to memory.

His fingers shook as they circled around the doorknob. But when he ripped his gaze from Hajime, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled the door open as carefully as he could and didn’t look back as he left the room.

The months following were the hardest of Tooru’s life. An ache had settled in him as he boarded his plane back to Argentina, and he felt it happening as it became a part of him.

Tooru had made his decision, and he knew it was something he would just have to live with. He had to be strong and he had to keep his priorities straight.

And so he did the only thing that made sense to him. He dedicated everything he had to volleyball. He already did this, of course, but somehow, he found a way to give more, not leaving any room for disposable thoughts. When he wasn’t practicing, he was working out at the gym; and when he wasn’t doing that, he was talking strategy with anyone who would listen. There was no time for anything else.

It was clear from his texts that Hajime picked up on this quickly. He had tried, really tried, to get in contact with Tooru after he left without a word on New Year’s Day, but Tooru wouldn’t allow it. Every so often, he’d answer a text with a brief reply, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold a conversation. Every time he saw Hajime’s name light up on this phone, Tooru had to fight the clawing urge to buy a plane ticket to California.

Eventually, he stopped trying. And it broke Tooru’s heart all over again when he realized it. It was like the final step to moving on. The last part of losing Iwaizumi Hajime.

Tooru didn’t go home again for Christmas for four years.

He took time to see his parents, of course, finding a week or two in the spring of fall where he could fly home. But it was never in the winter or summer. Never when he knew Hajime was on break.

And Tooru understood how fucked up this all was. He knew he had an amazing night with his best friend and then essentially cut him out of his life. He was self-aware enough to what he had done. But he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. And the longer it went on, the more Tooru was sure he could never fix what he had broken.

Tooru had just gotten the news that he had made the Argentina national team when he made the decision. He had called his parents to tell them the news, the excitement just too much to bear on his own. And after the initial celebratory response from the other side of the phone, his mom had asked if he would like to come home for Christmas. She said they would even have a party like they used to. As a celebration for him. All of their friends and family would come and they would all be able to congratulate Tooru in person.

And there was just something about the tone of her voice. The way she tried to ask nonchalantly, but Tooru could hear the way she was pleading just underneath. He missed her dearly and he missed spending the holidays with his family.

He couldn’t bring himself to agree, too afraid of getting his mom’s hopes up and hurting her in the process. But he knew. He knew what he was going to do before they even hung up the phone.

There was so much that he wasn’t ready to face. So many things that terrified him about this. But he was going to be a God damn Olympic athlete, for fuck’s sake, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, after four years, he was ready to face all that he had been running from.

So here he is, staring through a window in the mid-morning, heart in his throat, and finally, _finally_ , seeing what the road not taken looks like after all this time.

And Tooru realizes now that nothing in this world could have prepared him for seeing Iwaizumi Hajime in person for the first time in four years.

He was never going to be ready.

It isn’t planned when it happens. If anything, Tooru has been doing everything he can to avoid it. But fate has other plans, apparently.

He’s walking out of the convenience store on the corner, having grabbed a few groceries for dinner as his mom had asked. It’s three days before Christmas and a gust of ice-cold wind burns his face as he makes contact with the outside air. He shivers and does his best to bury his face in his scarf, hands in pockets.

And that’s when it happens. He’s looking down, which is the only way to keep his face warm, and watching the sidewalk as he takes brisk steps back toward his parents’ house. It seems to be working well enough, he thinks, until, of course, his momentum is stopped by an unknown mass, and he’s falling backward onto the sidewalk.

Tooru blinks, head spinning, as he tries to look up toward whatever it is that just tried to kill him. The sun is in his eyes, and he can’t make out the figure in front of him at first. He doesn’t have to wait very long for the mystery to be solved, however.

“Oikawa?”

He stiffens when he hears the voice, everything suddenly coming sharply into focus. It’s as if he’s been awoken from a dream with a bucket of cold water. His stomach is doing backflips over itself and he’s not entirely sure he won’t vomit if he tries to move.

“Are you okay?”

Tooru only realizes, then, that he never responded. Which, he doesn’t think he can really be blamed for, given the circumstances. But he thinks he probably should at least try to be normal about this.

“Y—yeah. I’m fine.” He moves to get up, legs wavering, but Hajime is there in an instant, wrapping a hand around Tooru’s arm and pulling him to his feet.

Tooru fights the urge to flinch away from the contact. He has been virtually alone for four years now and physical touch is sparce these days.

He’s also just absolutely panicking about being face to face with Hajime, but he’s doing his best to not show just how frightened he is.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says, and Tooru is surprised by how sheepish it sounds.

“Don’t be,” he manages to croak out, not quite meeting the other’s eye. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. It’s my fault.”

It’s an amazing thing when he hears it. The laugh that escapes Hajime. He can tell from the look on his face that it was accident. That’s he’s just as caught off guard by the sound as Tooru is.

“What?” Tooru demands, voice whinier than it has been in a long time.

Hajime lets out another small, breathy laugh, and removes himself from Tooru. “I just never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

It’s stupid, Tooru thinks, how every muscle in his body relaxes at the familiar tone of the insult. That this, of all things, is what makes him feel at ease.

He manages a dejected huff, but the words are still shaky as he says, “Well this is just the first time I’ve ever needed to say them.”

Hajime snorts at that. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. You’ve never done anything wrong in your life.”

“Exactly,” Tooru says with a grin, and he realizes with a start that it’s genuine. “Now you’re getting it, Iwa-chan.”

There’s a beat of silence after that. A moment frozen in time following the use of the familiar nickname. But four years have passed, and Tooru knows that if he wanted to, Hajime could easily tell him he no longer had the right to call him that.

He doesn’t, though, because he’s Hajime. And he probably knows that while everything in their lives can change, Tooru’s ability to be unbearable probably hasn’t.

He just sighs instead. And it’s the sound of Tooru’s entire life, somehow. “Are you heading back to your parents’?”

“Yeah,” Tooru replies, feeling lighter than he had just minutes prior, “I was on my way there before I got run over by a human wall.”

Hajime scoffs and Tooru’s heart squeezes painfully as they begin walking side by side down the sidewalk.

Maybe some things truly never change.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”

It’s awkward. There’s really no other way to describe it. To be standing with Hajime in the space between their two houses, attempting to part from each other, but not sure how to say goodbye. It feels like the end of a first date with a stranger. And Tooru hates it.

He takes a step backward toward his house, creating more space between them, and tries his best to not notice the searching gaze that’s locked on him.

“Yeah,” he responds lamely, taking another step back. And he’s suddenly glad his hands are still in his pockets, the urge to reach out for Hajime almost too great.

He looks up, then, once again allowing their eyes to meet, and he has every intention of saying goodbye, turning around, and heading into his house. But the look on Hajime’s face has the words pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Actually, why don’t you come in for dinner? I’m sure my parents would love to see you.”

Hajime is trying to hold back a smile, but Tooru knows better, and just the thought alone has Tooru biting the inside of his own cheek.

But when Hajime doesn’t respond right away, Tooru’s blood runs cold. Maybe he’ll say no. Tooru would deserve it. Maybe he’ll scoff and ask him why he would even bother talking to him after all this time. Maybe he really doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“Sure,” Hajime finally says with a shrug.

It’s not the ringing endorsement Tooru so desperately needs, but it’s enough. For now, at least. It has to be.

It’s disorienting, sitting at the table with his parents and Hajime. Tooru feels out of place, somehow, even though he’s surrounded by three of the most familiar people in his life. But at the same time, it almost feels like no time has passed at all, and that everything is exactly as it’s always been. Or—well—always was.

It’s clear to Tooru how comfortable Hajime is here. Even while he can tell that Hajime isn’t completely at ease sitting next to _him_ , he’s obviously content to sit at the table with his parents and talk and eat and laugh. Tooru isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Your dad told me you were hired by the National Team,” Tooru’s father says after taking a sip of his water. “How is that going?”

Hajime clears his throat, and Tooru can’t help but notice the way his ears turn the slightest shade of pink. “Yeah, I did,” he smiles, and it’s muted, but obviously proud. “And it’s good. I met the official team a few weeks back, but we’ve been spending time together on and off the court and I really think we have a strong team on our hands.”

Tooru is afraid to speak, so he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a bite of his food and chews slowly. There’s a tugging at his chest as thinks about Hajime’s new position with the Japan National Team. He’s happy for him, of course, and unbelievably proud of what he’s accomplished. But the official roster was released for the team just a few days prior, and Tooru can’t help the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Hajime spending time with all of those people.

He knows it’s ridiculous. Hajime is his own person with his own life. And regardless, Tooru chose to no longer be a part of it. He has no right to feel anything toward how Hajime chooses to spend his time.

Hajime has had an entire separate life from his for the past four years, and while it’s Tooru’s fault, he can barely stomach the idea.

He doesn’t want to know.

Tooru’s parents offer to clean up after dinner, telling Tooru and Hajime to take some time to themselves to catch up. They leave them at the dining room table and Tooru wishes suddenly that he were anywhere else. It’s all very uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Thank you for inviting me in,” Hajime says after minutes of silence. “This was nice.”

Tooru wants to scream. There’s a heaviness in the air and he’s not sure how to make it stop. The man in front of him feels like a stranger once again, but there’s an ache all around them that reminds him that they will never be able to escape their history.

Tooru lets out the breath of air he has been holding, slow and unsteady, and finds the strength to look up. “Yeah, no problem. You know you’re always welcome here.”

And maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Am I?” Hajime asks, and while the words aren’t full of the malice Tooru was expecting, he still flinches.

He closes his eyes, trying to fight off the anxiety pulling in his chest. “Yes, Iwa-chan,” he says after a beat, opening his eyes with the words. “You know my parents probably like you more than me. You were always their favorite child.”

Hajime barks a laugh at that, and it causes Tooru’s heart to stutter in his chest. “I mean, with you as my competition, can you blame them?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tooru rolls his eyes and lays his head in his hand. “How long have you been in Miyagi, anyway?”

Hajime shrugs. “A few days. I got some time off until after the New Year, which I wasn’t really expecting. So that’s nice.”

“Hmmm, it is,” Tooru agrees. “I’m only able to stay until the day after Christmas.”

Hajime frowns. “Oh, that sucks.”

“Succinct as always,” Tooru says with a chuckle. “Caveman.”

He’s fighting a smile again and Tooru wants to tell him to stop. “I’m actually going to be in Tokyo for New Year’s Eve, though. The guys on the team are having a party.”

Tooru’s stomach twists, but he keeps his face blank. “Is that right?”

Hajime’s eyebrows knit together, and he seems to be searching Tooru’s face, but the look is gone faster than Tooru can process it. “Yeah. Bokuto is hosting, so I can only imagine how that’s going to go.”

“He’s the Fukurodani one, right?” Tooru knows the answer, but it feels like the easiest way to continue to conversation, so he asks it anyway.

“He is,” Hajime says, but the tug of his lips tells Tooru that he’s simply humoring him. And Tooru is suddenly so tired. There is something incredibly exhausting about having to play these games with someone who knows everything about you.

“And will Ushiwaka be there?” He doesn’t mean to ask the question, but it’s out there now, and the bitter sound of his voice is beyond his control.

Hajime snorts and gives Tooru a knowing look. “He was invited. I’m not sure what his plan is, though.”

“Aren’t you two like,” Tooru gestures his hand with as much flippancy as he can muster, “best friends now, or whatever?”

Sighing, Hajime places his chin in his hand, mirroring Tooru. “He’s not all that bad, Shittykawa. And his father helped me a lot.”

A part of Tooru wants to give him a hard time for fraternizing with the enemy. Another part of him wants to revel in the fact that Hajime actually used that old, terrible nickname. But the last and strongest part of him just wants to keep Hajime talking. So he pushes down his jealousy and his longing and the teasing words that are sitting on the tip of his tongue, and asks, “What was that like? Working with him?”

Hajime seems genuinely surprised by the questions, eyes going wide. And Tooru is slightly offended, because he’s not _always_ self-involved, which he knows is what Hajime is thinking. But Hajime still, even after all these years, knows him better than anyone. So Tooru can’t blame him, not really. Because he knows he’s showing a side of himself that Hajime has never seen.

Because Tooru knows he’s not the same person who walked out of Hajime’s bedroom four years ago. That Tooru isn’t gone, exactly, but he was forced to work with the ruined pieces that were left of himself when he returned to Argentina. And Hajime hasn’t met the new Tooru.

And he can tell, as Hajime begins to explain his time in California—all the experiences Tooru was absent for—that Hajime, too, isn’t the same person Tooru left sleeping in his bed.

He wonders, then, if the people they’ve become could ever have what they once did. If this version of himself was someone this version of Hajime would want in his life. Or if the memories that haunt him are all that remain.

He doesn’t deserve it, he knows, a spot in Hajime’s life, and he’s not sure he could even accept it should Hajime offer, but for now, he figures, he’ll allow himself to take anything Hajime is willing to give him.

So he listens to the sound of Hajime’s voice as he speaks, saying more at once than Tooru thinks he has ever heard, and prepares himself for the inevitable breaking of his own heart.

Oikawa Tooru has never been one to believe in fate, not really. He’s always worked for everything he has, pushing himself to his limits for the best possible outcome. It’s offensive, he thinks, to imply there is a force more powerful than all of them who is calling the shots.

Tooru’s life is what he has made it. Both the good and the bad. All the highs and lows are his own and he refuses to believe otherwise.

But there’s something peculiar in the pit of his stomach as he watches his mother as she places a red tablecloth over the dining room table in preparation for their Christmas party. Something telling him that maybe he never really had any control at all.

There really is nothing that could have prepared Tooru for this. The feeling he gets as he watches his parents’ living room fill up with family and friends. Some people he hasn’t seen in years. Others he isn’t sure he’s ever met.

He does his best to help with the hosting. He figures he owes it to his mom after spending over a decade avoiding any and all responsibilities during these parties.

But a part of him knows the truth. He’s really just doing his best to keep his mind off the inevitable. He’s not very successful, be he’ll be damned if he doesn’t put up a fight.

He’s just made his way back into the kitchen, carrying a stack of paper plates to be thrown away after dinner, when the tunnel vision he’s been operating on all night is suddenly shattered.

“Do you need any help?”

Tooru is pulled from his razor-like focus, the all-too-familiar voice causing him to jump, dropping the plates in the process.

After getting himself under control, Tooru sighs and says, “Well I do now.”

The ache returns in full force as Hajime chuckles and Tooru wonders why he ever thought he could do this.

He crouches down to pick up the plates, not quite able to look at Hajime just yet. But, of course, he’s there, kneeling next to Tooru with a mumbled, “sorry,” and does what he can to help clean up the mess.

Hajime stands first, stack of plates in hand, and reaches down with the other. Tooru stares at it for longer than he would care to admit, afraid that if he touches it, Hajime may disappear altogether. He doesn’t, though, to Tooru’s relief, but the warmth of his hand on Tooru’s is almost enough to set him ablaze.

“Thanks,” Tooru says, voice hushed and small, and he hates the way it sounds.

Hajime slowly slips his hand from Tooru’s and moves to throw the plates into the garbage can. “No problem. Sorry I scared you.”

Tooru huffs, the inhibition from a moment ago seemingly forgotten. “You didn’t _scare_ _me_ , Iwa-chan. I was just caught off guard!”

“Yeah? Is that why you jumped and threw plates everywhere?”

“I was very focused,” Tooru grumbles, crossing his arms.

Hajime snorts. “Clearly.”

Tooru chooses not to acknowledge the taunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, and instead says, “Now, if you don’t mind, I have guests to attend to.”

A complicated expression crosses over Hajime’s face, but Tooru doesn’t allow himself to think about it. “I know. That’s why I offered to help.”

Tooru realizes, then, how much closer they are to each other than just moments before. And he’s not exactly sure which one of them bridged the gap.

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers, afraid he’ll break whatever spell has been cast on the kitchen if he speaks any louder. “You’re a guest.”

Hajime frowns at that and Tooru wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he stops. “A guest, huh?”

“Well, yeah—”

“I think I’ve been to just as many of these parties as you have.” And isn’t that just a punch to the gut? “More, actually, if you count the small one they had three years ago with just my parents and me.”

Tooru takes a step back. This conversation suddenly feels dangerous and he’s not sure if he should stay to see what happens next or run away and hide somewhere Hajime will never find him.

He thinks, however, that maybe Hajime will always find him.

Tooru is at a loss for words and what could be seconds or minutes or hours stretch by before Hajime fills the silence. And the question is so out of place that it gives Tooru whiplash.

“Did you get me a present?”

Tooru blinks. “What?”

Hajime huffs, seemingly annoyed, and Tooru is almost relieved, because this, he can work with. “A Christmas present. Did you get me anything?”

“I—” Tooru is confused, and pretty taken aback. And then he isn’t confused. And the sudden realization of the meaning behind his words is almost as jarring as the question itself. But he keeps his face carefully blank. “I—No. I didn’t. I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

There’s a knowing look in Hajime’s eyes as he says, “I didn’t either. Know you’d be here. Or get you anything.”

Tooru doesn’t know what Hajime expects him to say. He wants to cross his arms, but he realizes he’s still holding his stack of plates, and so he just meets Hajime’s eyes, stare defiant.

“Okay, then. Glad we cleared that up.”

Hajime cocks his head, and there’s a question there. Tooru doesn’t want to answer it, though, so he doesn’t, and instead he turns to make his exit. Because he really doesn’t think he can do this now that he’s in the face of it.

“Four years ago—” Hajime starts, and the way his voice breaks causes Tooru to pause. He doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t leave, either, and he thinks Hajime takes that for what it is. “Four years ago, you told me that even though everything around us seemed to be changing, that we still had this. That it was all you wanted. That if I—If I kissed you, then it would be enough to get you through.”

Tooru doesn’t speak. There’s a beat of silence. And then he hangs his head in resignation.

“Did it?”

Tooru’s eyes fall shut at the question. His hands shake and he’s sure he’s going to drop the plates again.

But he still doesn’t respond. He can’t. He _can’t._ He—

“Tooru, please look at me.”

His head snaps up and there’s a burning in his throat that wasn’t there before. He blinks rapidly until he can see clearly again, and then he forces himself to turn around.

Hajime’s eyes are wide when Tooru’s meet them.

“Happy?”

“No.” Hajime takes a step forward, voice hoarse and wet. “I’m not.”

Tooru looks away, but keeps his feet firmly planted in place. “What do you expect me to say?”

He’s tired of pretending. And he doesn’t think he can get away with it much longer. Not with the way he can feel the ache inside Hajime like a blow to the chest. Not with the way it matches his own.

“Anything,” Hajime says, taking another step. “Or the truth, maybe. That would be preferable.”

Tooru flinches at the bitterness in his voice. “The truth?” he asks, sounding hollow and far away. The wall he’s been staring at blurs out of focus. “About what, exactly?”

Hajime sounds more tired than anything else when he says, “Why—Why did you leave the way you did?” Tooru feels the breath leave his lungs, but Hajime isn’t done. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or if we took things too far, but you know I would _never_ —If you would have just talked to me—”

“No—” Tooru’s voice is louder than he expects it to be as he cuts Hajime off. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t _you_. It wasn’t about—”

“Me?” Hajime laughs bitterly. “It wasn’t about me? Is that really what you’re going with? Then what was it about, Oikawa? Please, do tell. Explain how you walking out on me after what I thought was the best night of my life and then cutting me out wasn’t _about me._ ”

Tooru feels the ground shift under him. And his heart hurts more than he could ever say. But there’s anger there, too. Hajime’s tone causing an answering fury to bubble under his skin.

He really tries to reel it in, he does. Because he doesn’t want to fight him, not like this. He tries to find a way to explain himself that will make sense. That he can say in a calm and collected manner. But when he finally snaps his head back to meet Hajime’s demanding eyes, he’s practically shouting the words before he can consider the consequences.

“It was about _me_ , Hajime! And _my_ _future._ I had a plan. I had _goals_. And I couldn’t—”

The words die on his tongue when realizes it, the mistake he’s made, as Hajime takes a stumbling step backward.

“You couldn’t?” Hajime asks harshly, his voice wild and unfamiliar, but it’s frayed at the ends and Tooru thinks it may be the worst sound he’s ever heard. “You couldn’t _what_ , Tooru? Be with me? Because of your _goals_? I wasn’t… What? A part of the plan? I wasn’t _good enough_ to fit into the future of the great Oikawa Tooru?”

Tooru thinks he may vomit. Because this isn’t right. That’s not what he meant. That’s not at all what he had meant to say. And Hajime isn’t listening and—

He suddenly wants to scream, the pressure in his chest becoming too much to bear.

And so he does.

“Not good enough?” he bellows, feeling a spike of adrenaline as he takes two quick steps back into Hajime’s space. “How the fuck can you even think that?”

Hajime looks outraged. “You’re the one who—”

“You want to know why I left, Hajime? Because you were the most important person in my entire life and you meant _everything_ to me. Because when I looked at you that morning, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you. Because I would have given up everything to be with you and it terrified me. It hurt too much, to have you like that. And I knew I had to leave, then. Or I never would.”

He hates the way Hajime’s face crumples at his words, a painful resignation in his eyes as he takes them in. “Tooru, you know I never would have asked you to—"

“I do,” Tooru says wetly, throat raw, “but you didn’t deserve that. Neither of us did. We were on different paths. I knew I had to let you go.”

“That’s so fucking stupid, Oikawa.” Tooru takes a step back at the sudden outburst. “So you thought that instead of having a conversation, that I deserved to just be completely abandoned by you?”

“I didn’t—”

“You _did_ , and don’t you dare try to say otherwise. You left me. You convinced me to kiss you and then when I did, you got scared and left. And that’s fine, I guess I can understand why you did. But you should have fucking _talked to me_. We were best friends. For our entire lives. And you just walked away like it was nothing.”

The anger returns as Hajime finishes and Tooru has to force himself to reel it back in before he’s yelling again. “It wasn’t nothing. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”

Hajime seems to deflate at that, breath hitching. “Do you regret it?”

Tooru thinks that maybe he could just lie and it would be easier. That he could do the right thing and not hurt Hajime more than he already has. But he can’t, not really. Not when the wound has already been broken open.

“No, I don’t.” Hajime hangs his head at the words and Tooru’s isn’t sure how his own heart is even still beating at this point. “It hurts. I miss you. And sometimes I wish I had handled it differently. But I don’t regret leaving when I did. It was the right thing to do.”

Hajime looks around the room, eyes wet. “That’s shit, Tooru.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry. I know it was selfish, but I can’t change it now. And you obviously didn’t need me. Look at everything you’ve done.”

Hajime snaps his gaze back to meet Tooru’s. “Don’t you dare. You have no right. Sure, maybe I didn’t _need_ you, but it fucking sucked, doing everything I did without you. Yeah, I made something of myself, and I proved that I can survive without you in my life. But I shouldn’t have had to. We were supposed to be a team.”

Tooru feels a sob escape his throat before he can stop it. “I’m sorry—"

“Don’t.” Hajime is there in one quick movement, grabbing his chin and forcing Tooru to look at him. “Just don’t.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Tooru admits, voice wavering.

“Everything is different now,” Hajime says suddenly, and it confuses Tooru for a second, until he continues. “And I left and you left…” There’s a tear falling down Tooru’s cheek, the words he said to Hajime four years ago being echoed back at him causing his resolve to crumble. “And I know things change and that’s life, but I just wanted to see you and have just one thing be the same. Because that’s what we do on Christmas. I kiss you. And that’s the only present _I’ve_ ever needed. I just want to kiss you and then it’ll get me through until next year. I swear.”

“Hajime—” No sound comes out as Tooru tries to speak. But then he laughs wetly. “How did you remember all that?”

“I told you,” Hajime swallows, closing his eyes tightly. But when he opens them again, they seem to only see Tooru. “It was the best night of my life. I remember all of it.”

Tooru looks up at the sky. Or the heavens. Or something. Because _this_ _man._ He is going to be the death of him.

“So, what are you trying to say, exactly?”

“I just want—” Hajime reaches out, then, the featherlight touch of his fingers to Tooru’s forearm. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. I know that. But I—Can we please just—”

Tooru’s crying again. He doesn’t think he has the power to stop now that he’s started. But Hajime’s hands are on his face, thumbs wiping the tears away. “You can’t mean that.”

“I _do_ ,” he insists. And the desperation tears another hole right through Tooru. “Please just let me have this. Have _you_. If you just promise me one thing. You have to be there when I wake up. Just let me wake up next to you and then I’ll let you go again. I won’t ask you to stay. I promise.”

Tooru sniffles, but he somehow finds the strength to form a smile. It’s not fake, not completely, but he knows Hajime can still probably see everything he’s hiding behind it. “It _is_ tradition.”

There’s the sound of plates clattering to the floor and a sharp intake of breath. And then Hajime’s lips are on his for the first time in four years. And there’s no countdown. Nothing leading up to it. And Tooru thinks he’s going to combust from the sheer force of it. But he returns the kiss quicker this time. More sure of what he feels and what he wants. The desperation is there, but now it’s tinged with something close to animosity, the two of them fighting to express all the pain and anger and resentment they have been holding inside for so long.

When Tooru gets Hajime into his room, he doesn’t hesitate. He takes what the other is offering without a second thought. Because how could he say not to this? Nothing has ever felt so right in his life, he knows, and he understands now just how much he _needs it._ Needs to fill this hole inside him. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if his heart breaks again in the morning.

It’ll have to be enough.

It surprises Tooru when Hajime forces them to slow down. When he takes his time with every kiss, every mark. How he opens Tooru up with tenderness and care he didn’t think possible. He takes him apart and puts him back together over and over and over again and Tooru can’t do anything but hold on for dear life.

And he realizes it, then, why this doesn’t feel like their first time. Why, while still overflowing with desperate longing, there is an intimacy unlike anything Tooru has ever felt. Every moment, every movement, sturdy and determined, yet gentle and familiar, a reminder of everything Hajime has always been to Tooru. _For_ Tooru. All the words he could never say being presented to him in actions Tooru was too blind to see.

Hajime isn’t holding back anymore. He’s giving Tooru everything he has. Using every second to make sure Tooru knows what he means to him. And Tooru knows, then, why there’s a stinging in his eyes. Why every lingering kiss leaves a hollow pit in his stomach.

Hajime is saying goodbye.

It’s disconcerting, waking up to find Hajime in his childhood bed after all these years. There’s a disconnect between the boys they once were and the men they’ve become.

And there’s such a strong sense of déjà vu, because haven’t they already been here? Tooru staring at Hajime while he sleeps, imagining everything they could be.

He wants to leave again. Just get up and run away and pretend like this never happened. But Hajime had asked him not to. Practically begged him. And Tooru can never really say no to him. Not when it counts.

Tooru’s heart is in his throat as Hajime stirs awake. The smallest bit of sunlight is coming through the window, and there’s something ethereal about the way it hits his bare skin.

“Hi,” Tooru whispers as Hajime opens his eyes. The other man smiles, crooked and sleepy, and Tooru isn’t sure his heart has ever been fuller.

“Hey, Shittykawa.”

He feels it, then, the absolute and unmistakable feeling of loss. The grief overtaking him in waves. But he fights it off, at least for now. His train doesn’t board for another few hours, so he allows himself this. To sink into Hajime’s arms as they wrap around him. And in this moment, he finally understands, that they’re the warmest thing he’s ever known.

The air in Argentina isn’t nearly as cold as it was in Japan, and Tooru is glad for it. Revels in it, even. Because he can almost pretend like there was never any holiday season at all.

He’s been back in Argentina for two days now and has been doing his best to throw everything he has into practicing. He has to make up for the days he missed, he insists to anyone who asks, and he can’t let himself slip just because it was Christmas, you know?

But it’s a flawed excuse, and he knows it. But if the team notices that something is wrong, they don’t say anything. They let him have this and Tooru appreciates the opportunity to keep what’s left of his dignity.

He’s sitting on the balcony of his apartment, looking out at a beautiful sunset. It’s relaxing, and Tooru is finally letting himself wind down after almost two straight days of physical exertion, but he wishes he weren’t. Wishes he were anything but relaxed so his brain would have something to focus on, instead of finally letting the emptiness swallow him whole.

The sunset really is incredible, and Tooru knows he could never see something like this in Miyagi. He wants to appreciate it, never wants to take it for granted. Because he _made it here_. All on his own. He pushed and fought and bled until he had something to be proud of. So now, he’s going to allow himself a moment to appreciate the beauty that he’s earned.

The life he’s created for himself. The life he gave up so much for. Maybe even everything.

And he can’t really appreciate it at all, can he? Because the sunset is breathtaking, sure. But all he wants in this moment is to be able to share it with someone else.

Tooru begins to sigh, fully feeling sorry for himself, now, but his phone rings suddenly, and it startles him enough to shake him from the mood he’s put himself in.

He’s a bit shocked when he sees the name, but it still brings a small smile to his lips.

“Mattsun!”

“Oi, Oikawa! How are you?”

Tooru narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “I’m… fine. Just looking at the beautiful Argentina sunset from my 15th story balcony. You know, the usual.”

Issei chuckles at that, lighthearted and familiar. Tooru realizes then that he misses him dearly. “Did you call me just to brag about your sweet crib?”

Tooru rolls his eyes. “You called me, Mattsun.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Oh, right,” Issei deadpans, but Tooru can tell he’s smiling, too. “Well, I guess that means you’re not in Japan anymore, then.”

“No,” Tooru sighs, “I left on the 26th.”

Mattsun hums. “Ah, well I just wanted to see if you were coming to the New Year’s party.”

Tooru cocks his head, but then remembers Issei can’t see him. “You mean the party with the Japan National Team?”

“That’s the one.”

“Uh, no,” Tooru huffs, “I wasn’t actually invited? But I’m also in Argentina, obviously. And I don’t even know Bokuto—”

“Neither do we!” A voice calls. It’s not Issei.

“Am I on speaker?” Tooru all but growls. He hates it when they do this.

“Hi, Tooru,” he hears Takahiro coo. He wants to be annoyed, but the fondness he feels is almost overwhelming.

“Hey, Makki,” he replies, feigning exasperation.

There’s an unexpected beat of silence after that and it unsettles Tooru. He learns rather quickly that he should always trust his gut.

“So,” Takahiro starts, cutting through the silence, “do you want to tell us what happened?”

Tooru makes a strangled noise, a mixture of fear and irritation clawing at his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh,” Issei supplies, and Tooru can imagine the blank, but knowing look on his face. He wishes he were there so he could punch it. “Do you want to try that one again?”

He wants to cry suddenly. He wasn’t expecting to be ambushed like this. Why can’t he just enjoy the sunset in peace? If everyone would just let him be then maybe he would be okay and—

“Tooru?” Takahiro breaks through his thoughts. “You still there?”

“Unfortunately,” Tooru grumbles. “I—I don’t know what to say. Did he tell you something?”

Issei snorts at that. “He didn’t really have to.”

“Yeah,” Takahiro adds, a solemn tone to his voice, “we saw him yesterday when he got back to Tokyo and it was obvious something was wrong.”

Tooru sputters. “And why do you assume it’s my fault?”

“Well, for one, you just said, and I quote, ‘did he tell you something?’” And all of a sudden, Tooru can’t remember why he ever missed Issei at all.

He considers throwing his phone off the balcony. “That could have been about _anything_ —”

“Look,” Takahiro cuts him off, voice stern and serious, and it’s so uncharacteristic that Tooru snaps his mouth shut. “We can either go back and forth about this for another hour until we break you down and you tell us anyway. Or you can just get it over with now so we can help in whatever way we can.”

And there’s a pain in Tooru’s chest. Because not only did he leave his heart in Japan, but he left these two amazing men as well, and he wishes he had the words to tell them how grateful he is and always has been for them. But he thinks they know, somehow, and he hopes that it can be enough.

The words are pouring out of him, then, and they feel as if they’re never ending as he tells the other two everything. Each admission feels like another blow to Tooru’s resolve and the more he says, the more he needs to speak. And it’s not only about the other night, or his and Hajime’s confessions, or the agreement they came to. It’s not just about the New Year’s Eve party four years ago where Tooru begged Hajime to kiss him and then left without a word. It’s not just a full and detailed description of the history of their holiday tradition. It’s everything in between, as well. Everything Tooru is sure the other two have known much longer than even he has. All the ways and reasons Tooru loves Hajime. And misses him. The long nights and extra volleyball practices and Hajime scolding him for overworking himself. It’s the fact that Tooru didn’t see it, not really. He knew he cared for Hajime, knew he liked it when he kissed him. He understood that he was the most important person in his world. But he couldn’t put the pieces together, not when he was standing so close. And now, now that he’s put an ocean between them again, all he can do is look back on everything he left behind.

When he finishes, sure that he’s finally run out of things to say, he’s heaving and his face is burning. Whether it be from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, he’s not sure. But Takahiro and Issei didn’t interrupt him once, waiting until he finished explaining to say their peace. And he appreciates that, because it feels good to finally have it all off his chest. Even if it didn’t really solve anything at all.

“I don’t understand,” is the first thing Takahiro says after a long silence. When he doesn’t elaborate, Tooru lets out a heavy, frustrated breath.

“What is there to not understand?”

“Other than all of it?” Issei asks, incredulous.

“I think it was pretty straight forward,” Tooru whines into the phone.

“Absolutely nothing was straight forward about any of that, Oikawa.”

Tooru hangs his spinning head. “Fine, then tell me what it is you don’t understand, Makki.”

“Uh—Well. It’s just—”

“We don’t understand why you’re being such an idiot about this. It doesn’t make any sense.” Issei’s words are heavy blows, grenades being tossed at Tooru’s feet.

A part of Tooru wants to argue, but the fight is leaving his body before he can get any words out. “I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. You don’t want Iwaizumi to, what?” Takahiro demands, voice rising in volume. “Hold you back? Or… You’re worried that you’ll sacrifice your future for him or something because you love him? That’s fucking dumb, Oikawa. Even for you.”

“That’s not fair.” And Tooru’s already getting worked up again. “I made the best decision for both of us. You don’t know how much it hurts to have to be away from him and we’re not even together. I don’t know what else I was supposed to do.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Issei responds, and it’s bitchier than Tooru has ever heard from him. “Maybe fight for what you want? For who you want?”

Tooru swallows, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. “That’s—”

“No, don’t. I’m going to speak now and you’re going to listen. For once in your God damn life.” Tooru doesn’t dare speak again as he hears Takahiro snort at Issei’s words. “Your entire life, all you’ve done is work for everything you have. You’re not a genius. We all know that. But you’re a talented fucking volleyball player. And look at everything you’ve done. You had to fight tooth and nail for it, but you did it. And it has never been easy. Every step of the way has been full of pain and sacrifice, but you’ve done what you had to. And no one blames you for that. But I guess what I just don’t understand is, after everything you’ve done and fought for, why you decided that you were going to draw the line at this? Why is taking on some obstacles to be with the love of your life suddenly too hard for you? Is Iwaizumi not worth it to you? Or are you just scared and this is all one big excuse? I just don’t get it, man. I don’t. When did you start running when things got tough? The Oikawa Tooru I know fights for the things he wants and doesn’t give up until he has them.”

Tooru doesn’t know what to say. He’s at a complete loss for words, blinking the sting from his eyes. He thinks that maybe, if he tries hard enough, he could come up with a proper argument. It would be flawed, and maybe even illogical, but he could say something that he would believe enough to continue on with his life as planned.

But the ache in his chest is only growing and he’s finally able to admit to himself that he’s terrified the hole will never truly heal this time.

Issei’s words are still echoing in his brain as he stares back out at the horizon. The sun is just about to fall beneath it, and Tooru takes another second to appreciate the last bit of light before it’s gone. Then he closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose.

He decides, then, startling himself with the certainty of it, what he’s going to do.

“Can you send me Bokuto’s address?”

Oikawa Tooru is going to fucking fight for what he wants.

And he’s not going to give up until he wins.

Tooru never expected he would be stepping back into Haneda so soon. But, alas, here he is. And before he can think too hard about how his life has suddenly become a cheesy Lifetime movie, he’s running through the airport, expertly weaving through the crowds of people.

The holiday season is still in the air all around him as he moves, and he isn’t sure why he thought he could ever escape it.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that. There’s more running, and a taxi ride somewhere in between, and then even more running. And then he’s staring up at a large house from the bottom of the porch steps.

And then he’s running again, taking the steps two at a time as he ascends.

Even as a pro athlete, Tooru is just about at his limit, breathing heavily as he makes his way through the open door.

He feels a bit bad, just crashing the party like this, and he hopes Issei and Takahiro had told Bokuto he was coming like they said they would. He guesses it doesn’t really matter, though. There’s no turning back now.

To his dismay, the first familiar face Tooru sees is Ushijima. He grimaces, but then realizes that only one of them is a guest here, and he does his best to school his expression and avoid the man altogether.

There’s Tobio next, a clearly intoxicated Shoyou on his heels. Tooru knows they are trying to greet him, to get his attention, but he _has to keep moving_. So he gives a small wave and pushes on through the growing crowd.

He finally, finally sees Takahiro and then he’s running again. He crashes into him, wrapping his arms around his middle and burying his face into his back.

“Holy shit, Oikawa,” he hears Issei laugh, and then he’s pulling away from Takahiro and hugging the other man. “You actually made it.”

“Mattun,” he breathes heavily, the exhaustion and nerves making it nearly impossible to say anything more.

He pats Tooru’s head in a reassuring gesture and then Takahiro is saying, “He’s right over there,” and Tooru’s head snaps up from where it’s buried in Issei’s chest.

And when Tooru’s eyes finally find him, finally are able to look upon Hajime once more, he’s shocked by the sight before him.

Hajime is dancing. Kind of. He’s swaying—stumbling, perhaps—with one arm around Bokuto Koutarou and the other around Miya Atsumu. They’re both cheering loudly, and then Bokuto is shoving a drink into Hajime’s hands, and to Tooru’s surprise, Hajime begins chugging the contents until they’re seemingly gone.

And while Tooru knows that he wasn’t a part of Hajime’s life for four years, hat he chose to miss out on his university days, and that he certainly has gone to parties and been drunk before, Tooru has just never seen Hajime like this. And he suddenly feels very, very out of place.

Was coming here a mistake? Did Tooru just cross an ocean only to come face to face with a version of Hajime who was enjoying himself without him? Maybe all Tooru would accomplish with this is ruining Hajime’s night. Maybe he should just leave.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Tooru jumps as he hears Takahiro’s voice in his hear, “stop.” And then there’s a pressure as the man hooks his chin over Tooru’s shoulder.

Tooru wants to protest, but then Issei is there, too, standing in front of him with a determined look on his face. “He’s right. Don’t you dare back down now.”

“Do you think I should wait?” Tooru asks hopefully. “It doesn’t seem like the right time.”

“Nope,” Takahiro responds cheerfully.

“I think he’ll drink himself to death if you don’t go over there and stop him.” Tooru’s gaze finds Hajime again. He watches as he continues to stumble, and the other two are trying their best to keep him standing, but they’re handing him _another_ drink, and this time it looks like a shot, and Oh God, he’s going to _die_ —

“Alright, fine,” is all Tooru says before he’s making his way across the crowded room.

He thinks he hears his friends laughing behind him, but he doesn’t have time to look back.

And maybe Tooru didn’t think this through. But he’s here all the same, standing in front of Hajime and removing the shot from his hand before he can take it.

“I think that’s enough.”

He realizes that he never really devised a plan for any of this. But now, the only thing he can focus on is making sure Hajime is safe. Everything else can wait.

“Tooru?” His name is slurred as it leaves Hajime’s lips, but the shock is there all the same. “Are you real?”

There’s a rough tug on Tooru’s heart at that, but he forces himself to keep his composure. “Yes, I’m real. I’m here.”

Hajime blinks at him as Bokuto and Atsumu surrender their hold. “You’re here?”

Tooru grabs his shoulders, making sure to steady him. “I’m here,” he repeats, and Hajime’s face is crumbling in the next instant.

Not sure if he can take much more of this, Tooru looks around wildly for a solution. For a way to get Hajime out of this situation. He’s had entirely too much to drink and Tooru isn’t sure he’ll make it through the night if he doesn’t help find somewhere to sleep.

“Oikawa Tooru, as I live and breathe,” Tooru whips his head around and finds himself face to face with Miya Atsumu. “I never thought we’d ever actually meet. I was always curious, though, with how much Iwaizumi talks about you.”

Tooru feels his face begin to warm, but then Hajime makes a sound in what he can only assume is protest. “I would never talk about him,” Hajime manages to say with a heavy tongue. “He’s terrible.”

Tooru sighs. But he’s smiling, too. Because this is his Iwa-chan. Even when he’s so far gone that he can’t stand on his own, he’s still the Hajime he loves.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” Bokuto says, moving closer to join the conversation. “We were having a good time, but he just kept wanting to drink. It might have been too much. But he seemed like he just needed to let loose so we tried to take care of him.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Hajime practically whines. Tooru can’t help the smirk that falls onto his lips. “Stop talking about me.”

“I appreciate you looking after him,” Tooru says with a genuine smile. “Do you have somewhere I can take him? Like an extra room or something?”

“Yeah, there’s a guest room upstairs,” Bokuto says without a second of hesitation and Tooru is overrun with gratitude for this man he’s just met. “If for some reason it’s taken, you can use the other bedroom. But please don’t have sex in there. Kuroo will kill me if I let someone else have sex in our bed.”

Tooru begins coughing harshly. “Thank you so much,” he manages to get out between wheezes. “And sorry for crashing your party.” He begins pulling Hajime away from the crowd and toward the stairs, desperate to escape the knowing looks he’s receiving from these strangers.

He finds the guest room without incident, and he’s relieved to see it’s not occupied. Still pulling Hajime by the hand, he flicks on the light to find a rather large room with a queen-sized bed in the middle. He shuffles Hajime over to the bed and mostly manages to keep him upright.

Hajime doesn’t put up a fight as Tooru pushes him down onto the bed, rolling slightly until he’s on his stomach. He huffs loudly and Tooru can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes him.

“Stay here,” he says softly, running a hand over the other’s back. “I’m going to go find you some water.”

“Wait.” Hajime turns himself over with a groan and reaches out for Tooru’s wrist. “You’ll come back, right?”

Tooru searches Hajime’s face for a moment, feeling something close to shame pull at his stomach. There’s a burn in the back of his throat and he knows he needs to say something before he no longer can. “Of course I will.”

Though the words he speaks are the truth, they somehow feel like a lie.

Tooru does manage to find water, and Bokuto is able to get some Aspirin for Hajime to take in the morning. And then Tooru is hurrying back up the stairs, wanting to be next to Hajime as soon as possible.

And the sight he’s met with when he enters the room causes his heart to cease in his chest.

Because there Hajime is. Sleeping soundly, small, even breaths escaping his lips, and curled in on himself. He looks so much like the boy Tooru first met. And Tooru wants nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to remember what his skin feels like under his fingers. But for now, he’ll let him rest. Because there will be time for them to talk. For Tooru to say everything he came here to.

As he slides into bed next to the only person who has ever truly known him, Tooru decides then and there that he can allow himself to sleep. Because the morning will come, and he won’t have to leave.

Tooru isn’t sure he’ll ever really get used to waking up next to Iwaizumi Hajime. Years of friendship should have prepared him for this, but he’s just no match for Hajime’s lop-sided, sleep-ridden grin and bleary eyes. He does his best to bury his smile into the pillow as Hajime blinks over at him, but he knows it’s no use. Hajime knows him too well.

Tooru can’t bring himself to speak. Instead choosing to watch Hajime and wait for him to make a decision. He still seems confused, however, his eyes searching and darting over Tooru as if they have never seen him before.

“I thought maybe I was dreaming,” Hajime whispers into the space between them, and it’s so soft and unsure Tooru feels as if he’s going to break apart from it. “I was afraid if I opened my eyes, you wouldn’t really be here.”

Tooru can feel himself shaking. “I’m sorry.” The words are wet, and they’re not even what he means to say, but it’s the only thing he thinks his wavering voice will allow. “I’m so sorry.”

Hajime’s face seems to harden, suddenly, and Tooru fights to not rear back at the sight. “Why are you here, Oikawa?”

Tooru stiffens, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Hajime closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Tooru feels as if the walls in the room are beginning to close around him. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if Hajime rejects him, now. But he’s not sure he deserves any alternative. “I came to see you.”

“Weren’t you in Argentina?” Hajime asks in disbelief, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a familiar scowl forming on his face.

“I was.” Tooru lets out a shaky breath. “But I’m here now.”

“You flew back to Argentina like six days ago. And then you just turned around and came _back_?”

Tooru can’t help it when his face twists into a smirk. “I really feel like you’re not focusing on what’s important here, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, but there’s no real malice to it. A fond smile tugs on his lips and Tooru thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can have this.

“Oh yeah? Tell me what’s so important, then, Shittykawa. What should I be focusing on?”

Tooru’s breath hitches. It’s now or never, he supposes. But he’s not even sure where to begin.

Actions have always spoken louder than words for the two of them. So Tooru is moving before he has even formulated a plan. He’s up on his knees and moving across the bed to kneel in front of Hajime. The other man watches him with wide eyes, seemingly frozen in place.

Tooru slowly lowers himself to sit down in front of him, crossing his legs to mirror Hajime’s. Their knees line up, touching ever-so-slightly, and Tooru can almost imagine the red gleam of a tablecloth painted across Hajime’s face.

“What are you doing?” Hajime breaks the silence, and Tooru remembers with a start that it was his turn to speak.

He places his right hand over the spot where his and Hajime’s knees meet, curling his fingers to grip at the fabric of Hajime’s jeans. “What I should have done six days ago.” Tooru frowns, considering. “Or four years ago. Or maybe when we were nine.”

Hajime manages a laugh at that, but it breaks as soon as it’s out, turning into something much closer to a sob. “What should you have done?”

“I should have—” he starts, moving his left hand up to cup Hajime’s cheek. A single tear falls, but Tooru is there to wipe it away. “I should have told you that I never wanted to leave you. That all I ever wanted was for you to kiss me. That I have missed you every single day for the past four years. And that I have to reject your proposition.”

Hajime’s eyes go wide at that, but Tooru runs a thumb over his lips before he can speak.

“I have to reject your proposition,” he continues, voice finally steady and sure, “because I don’t want to wait until next year. I don’t want you to let me go. Please don’t let me go, Hajime.”

Hajime’s lips part the slightest amount and Tooru feels the warm breath as it makes contact with his thumb. “But you said—”

“I know. And I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong and stupid and I’m sorry.” Tooru can barely get the words out, his throat restricting as he fights off the tears threatening to spill over. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

Hajime’s eyes are searching, and Tooru’s sure he’s looking for the slightest bit of fear or doubt on his face. But Tooru knows he won’t find any. Because he’s made up his mind. “You would want to try this? With me? Even though we live on different continents and—”

“I love you, Hajime.” He’s not sure what possesses him to say it in that moment, but all he knows is that he means it with everything he has. “You’re my Iwa-chan, you know? And that’s not going to change even if I end up in Antarctica or on Mars with the aliens. There’s never going to be anyone else. It’s always going to be you and me. So yes, I want to try this. Because I know we’re strong enough to make it work.”

Hajime looks dazed, eyes wide and blown out. His face is softer than Tooru has ever seen, though, and there’s a something akin to wonder there.

The spell is broken suddenly, however, when Hajime snorts and flicks Tooru on the nose. “You really are terrible, aren’t you?”

“What?” Tooru practically yelps, attempting to move away.

But Hajime is laughing, sounding amused and more free than Tooru can ever remember hearing. He grabs Tooru’s wrist before he can create any distance between them and pulls until Tooru is falling into his space. Hajime presses a kiss to his cheek, then, and time seems to stop, Tooru’s heart stumbling over itself in his chest.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to figure all that out,” Hajime mumbles against his temple.

Tooru scoffs, pulling away to look Hajime in the eyes. “Well, I didn’t see _you_ doing anything about it other than getting wasted. What _was_ that about anyway, Iwa-chan?”

Hajime has the decency to look sheepish, but his stare is unwavering as he shrugs. “I think I just wanted to forget for a little while.”

Tooru closes his eyes, the familiar burn low in his abdomen. “I—”

“I love you too, you know.”

Tooru’s eyes snap open at the words. And he’s met, then, with a Hajime unlike any he has ever witnessed. He’s raw, splayed open so Tooru can see every piece of him. There’s still so much to say, Tooru knows. So much to work out and discuss. But for now, Hajime is giving Tooru everything he can, just as he always has, and Tooru knows it’s long past time for him to do the same.

Minutes, maybe hours pass, but Hajime never once looks away from Tooru, seemingly memorizing every piece of him. And Tooru wants to tell him to stop, that he doesn’t have to do that. Because he’s not going anywhere. But he doesn’t. Because he understands. Understands how much they both need this.

Tooru rests his forehead against Hajime’s, no longer afraid of what comes next, and doesn’t dare look away from the only eyes that have ever been able to see him.

**_Two years later_ **

To this day, Oikawa Tooru maintains his stance that everything, absolutely everything that has happened has been at the fault of Hajime.

Iwaizumi Hajime, on the other hand, simply gives Tooru a smug smile when he says this and takes full responsibility. Because he’s happy. _They’re_ happy. And if Hajime is going to be blamed for something, it might as well be that.

There’s a thin layer of snow outside as Tooru bounds through his parents’ house. He runs down the stairs and through the living room, startling his mother’s guests, and then makes his way through the kitchen and into the dining room.

He takes a running leap as he enters the room, throwing himself forward and onto Hajime’s back. His long limbs surround the other man, who groans in surprise at the sudden weight.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru cheers. “I found you!”

“You always do,” Hajime grumbles, but he can’t pretend it’s anything but fond.

“What are you doing in here?” Tooru whispers in Hajime’s ear, not missing the way his body shudders in response.

And it’s amazing, really, how they can still do this to each other. After a friendship spanning their entire lives and sharing a kiss on Christmas for most of it. After being able to call this what it is for almost two years, now, and missing each other for weeks at a time, and then making up for it again and again and again with gasping breaths and desperate hands. With an Olympic match between them, and a gold medal under Tooru’s belt. An entire history stretched out behind them, and a whole future ahead. And here they are, more in love than they have ever been.

Hajime hums, a perfect picture of nonchalant. But he’s not fooling Tooru. There’s something else there, going deeper than just his reaction to Tooru’s whisper. He seems on edge, somehow. Maybe even nervous.

“You okay?” Tooru asks, beginning to remove himself from Hajime’s back.

Turning around to face him head on, Hajime smiles. It’s shaking, but it’s true, and Tooru doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“I have a present for you.”

Tooru blinks. “You what? Why didn’t you give it to me this morning?”

Hajime chuckles and rolls his eyes. He takes Tooru’s hand and says, “Just shut up and follow me, dumbass.”

Tooru huffs but stalks behind him. “How romantic of you, Iwa-chan,” he mutters.

Hajime just shakes his head, but he’s still laughing softly. Tooru absolutely adores the sound, but he’s beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong with him. If maybe he’s losing his mind.

And then Hajime stops walking as they find themselves in front of the dining room table.

There’s a tight squeeze in Tooru’s chest. “Hajime?”

“Come on,” is all the other says, tugging on Tooru’s hand until he’s crouching down and following him under the table.

They’re both—well—significantly taller than they were when they were nine. So they don’t exactly fit, but they make do. Hajime coaxes Tooru until he’s lying on his stomach, facing him with legs sticking out from under the table, and Hajime mirrors the pose. They stare at each other, chins in their hands, and there’s a red hue dancing over Hajime’s features that causes Tooru’s heart to stutter in his chest.

“Well?” He manages after gaining his composure.

“Well, what?” There’s a teasing smile on Hajime’s face, and Tooru isn’t sure if he wants to kiss him or shove him away.

“Are you going to give me my gift or not?”

“So greedy.” Hajime laughs again, soft and sweet. “Close your eyes,” he whispers, and Tooru does so without hesitation.

He still has to be difficult, though, because he’s Tooru. “Why? Iwa-chan, I swear, if you—”

He’s cut off by the feeling of warms lips on his left cheek. Tooru freezes for a second, suitably charmed, but then he deflates. “Did you really drag me down here to kiss me? My elbows hurt.”

“Can you please shut up for once?” Hajime growls, and Tooru feels it down to his bones. And then there’s another kiss, this time to his right cheek. And then another, on his forehead. And another, right on the tip of his nose.

There’s a pause, and Tooru’s eyes threaten to open, but then he feels warmth bloom in his chest as Hajime brings tender lips to his mouth. The kiss only lasts for seconds, and Hajime makes no move to deepen it, but Tooru’s heart is futtering, rapid and wild.

“Merry Christmas, Tooru,” Hajime breathes against his lips, hushed and only for them.

And then he’s pulling away, Tooru fighting back a sound of protest at the loss.

“You can open your eyes now.”

And so Tooru does.

And the sight before him is so unexpected, so _perfect_ , he lets out a gasp.

Because there Hajime is, lying on his stomach, holding himself up on one elbow, his other hand holding an open, black box. And there’s a ring. Because of course there is. And Tooru thinks that maybe he’s the luckiest man in the entire universe.

Before Hajime can even get the question out, before Tooru can find the words to say _yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you, Iwa-chan,_ he’s closing the gap between them and pushing Hajime completely onto the floor.

They’re both laughing as Tooru covers Hajime in kisses, making sure no skin goes untouched. There’s the distant, yet familiar sound of a Christmas party pouring in from the other room, but they pay it no mind.

This moment, Tooru thinks, as Hajime slips a ring onto his finger—red reflecting off the silver in fractured light—is only theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much if you've made it here. I really appreciate you taking the time to read this. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment below or come cry with me on [tumblr](https://bokurroo.tumblr.com/) or [twitter.](https://twitter.com/bokurroo/)
> 
> Happy holidays to anyone who has celebrated. And I am wishing each of you the happiest of new years <3


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